


How to love your dragon

by zaboraviti



Series: Dancing on the Edge [7]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Dragons, F/M, Fantasy AU, who's up for some medieval fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16727025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: How do I start to describe this story? Once upon a time, there lived a dragon who used to... No, wait, that would be a spoiler. Once upon a time there lived a sweeping wildfire of a young princess destined to become a queen. Not everybody liked her willfulness, so no wonder one day the princess found herself stumbling through the dungeons of her palace, where the horrible monster referred to as the Abomination had lived for as long as anyone remembered...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [How to love your dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/435102) by Lady-in-waiting-ss. 



> some of you might remember the [Lady Disdain's Vicbourne Dragon AU video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GhcOvUqw6JY) set to a beautiful Russian folk song. well, this is the story that goes with it (well, not exactly, but it does in my head). Lady wrote it over two years ago as a part of her collection of AU stories Dancing on the Edge, and it has since been on my to-do list, so here it is.

**_[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) _ **

 

The sunlight barely licked the green meadows under the fortress wall when the thumping of hooves woke the guard at the city gate. Lazily stretching his arms, the man turned on his wobbly stool. The light from the barred window hit the sleepy face and made it wince. The guard dropped an indifference glance through the window inside.

A young white mare was shifting from hoof to impatient hoof as the rider on her back held a fat velvet pouch to the bars, shaking it quietly.

The guard sighed. It took him approximately thirty seconds to figure out what appealed to him the most, money or peaceful life. The small fist shot up, coins in the pouch ringing merrily, teasing, beckoning. Gray, not yet quite focused eyes met a stubborn gaze of beautiful blue ones. Try saying no to these.

“Fine. But this is the last time!”

The tiny lithe figure of the lone rider was crossing the emerald green blanket of the meadow, when the guard patted his now considerably swollen boot leg. He hoped that the princess would be smart enough to return before her mother raised a kingdom-wide mayhem and Sir Conroy had the careless guard knocked into the middle of the next week.

 

***

Drina galloped through the woods, intoxicated by the glorious morning. Her mare’s muscles rippled with the energetic pace, and thin strands of hair clung to the princess’s forehead. The two were the living embodiment of vibrant energy.

The sun was quickly gliding higher in the sky. The rider’s magnificent hair shone a different shade every few seconds. Now the rising sun painted her nutmeg brown mane gold, then it was suddenly the color of molten tar, then amber, then fresh honey, then fire. It seemed as though mother nature itself wanted to demonstrate the fiery passion of the princess’s soul.

The morning breeze brought the smell of heather, and Drina plunged into it with the uttermost pleasure. She enjoyed these horse rides. She enjoyed taking in the beauty of the land and thinking that she would be its queen someday and rule over these treasures. The world looked so friendly, so fascinating, so mysterious and so beautiful. Oh, what she wouldn’t give to know what was there, beyond the thin line of the horizon. The Edge of the World, as her mama said?

She reached the edge of the wood but s she looked up admiringly at the bottle green of the fir needles bathed in the magical glow of the golden sunlight, she saw birds shooting up from their perches and heard the anxious wail of a horn. They were looking for her.

Drina grimaced. They missed her too soon this time. Her mother did not like getting out of bed before noon, especially after Drina had won the fight for the right to live in a separate room. Not having to set an example in discipline for her daughter, the queen dowager succumbed to idleness. Only one person could make her get up any time of day or night and that person was Sir Conroy.

Drina pictured the sharp profile and the black straight coat of mama’s favorite. Her blood boiling with indignation, the young princess dug in the spurs, probably harder than she had to.

The horn wouldn’t stop wailing. To Drina, the sound was familiar, almost dear, like the voice of her kind nurse frustrated by her restlessness. Yet she heard something new in the droning howl this time. The day smelled like anticipation. Anticipation of changes.

 

***

“Drina, my dear, why won’t you understand that it does not become a princess to prance about the woods! Alone! Without guards or even a lady-in-waiting!” her mother had been huffing and puffing for what felt like an hour.

“Especially a princess _like you_ ,” Conroy interjected tartly, giving Drina a skeptical once-over.

“And what pray tell do you mean by that, Sir John?”

Drina was infuriated. So much tongue-lashing for an innocent little ride, and as for Sir Shitbag, he had no right to judge her whatsoever. The princess looked like a tiny tornado: her hair messy, leaves stuck to the hem of her dress, she might look like a belligerent Amazon to a casual observer. Alas, there were no casual observers there, only her mother and this deplorable man, and they did not find Drina vigorous or brave in the least.

“A princess who cannot even grow to a height befitting her rank,” Conroy smirked.

The quip made her eyes sting. At that moment, Drina almost believed she was indeed good for nothing. But the tears remained unshed. Drina defiantly jerked up her little upturned nose. She was ready to fight. After all, no one would fight in her place or at least for her.

“Who let you out in the first place?” Conroy changed the subject. “The city gate is locked at night. How did you manage to get past the guards?”

“I rode out when the gate was already open. Right behind a spice cart. No one recognized me,” in cases like this, Drina lied insolently, in cold blood, with a clear conscience and without remorse.

But it seemed that her opponent had been waiting for this chance for a long time. For the opportunity to humiliate her, to make her look like a giddy idiot in the eyes of the entire kingdom. Cold eyes flashed with malicious glee.

“If so, perhaps your highness would care to explain how a pouch monogrammed with your initials fell into the hands of a night guard?”

Conroy looked smug, like a gambler who had just pulled four aces out of his sleeve. Drina went cold to the tip of her fingers.

“You have no right to spy on me. Or search the guards. The guards answer to the king,” she blurted out in one breath, trying to keep her voice firm.

“The king is old, ailing and weak. Fortunately, he has loyal people who can make sure that he is not bothered over… trifles,” Sir John’s arrogant voice oozed venom.

“You have just said that my safety is not a thing to be trifled with,” Drina retorted.

“True. But having to handle the help _is_. Why bother the king, when the matter is clear as day. The guard, who had the gall to let your highness out of the gate, putting you in danger and thereby committing a treason, shall be executed.”

There it is! How could she be so blind? Conroy wanted an innocent man to die because of her. Her reputation would be bloodstained. Common people would not like it. And a queen the people don’t like…

“It is not up to you to make such a decision!” Drina exploded. She had walked right into his trap.

“But it is up to the Lords. And the Lords have decreed that his punishment must fit the gravity of his crime.”

“I shall not have anyone pay for my mistake!” Drina was almost shouting now.

“Do I take it that you wish to be fed to the Abomination yourself?”

Sir John’s eyes glistened greedily and triumphantly. Her mother gasped. This snake of a man, he had thought everything through. Her slip-ups. Her impulsiveness. A shitbag indeed. Footmen called him that behind his back for a reason.

Oh, she was so angry — at herself and at Conroy. But if he thought he could crush her with this, he was wrong. He was wrong if he thought her unworthy of the throne that awaited her.

A good monarch always bears responsibility for his… her actions.

“Yes. I shall go down to the dungeons instead of that poor soul. Free the guard.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Drina saw her mother sink on the floor.

 

***

Her mother tried to dissuade her. So did her friends the ladies-in-waiting and even the girl who helped the princess dress in the morning.

But when evening came, Drina stood by the entrance to the dungeons.

Drina look like a tiny bug next to the mammoth of a door. A consecrated silence reigned behind the thick oak panels. It was also a dead silence — life stopped for anyone who crossed that doorstep. The thought weighed heavily on Drina’s mind. No more life. Only the Abomination.

No one knew exactly what the creature looked like. The fact was that no foe dared invade their land because of it. The bloodthirsty monster had been infamous since when Drina’s grandfather wore the crown. There were legends of a brave Lord who had tamed the Abomination and enchained it in the dungeons of the royal palace but paid for it with his own life. The story was murky at best, and Drina, as much as she loved all manner of fairytales and old songs, did not quite believe it. Could it be that the majestic walls that had guarded her as she grew up, kept such bloodstained tragedies?

“Nonsense,” Drina reasoned with herself, her sweaty hands fumbling with the massive doorknob.

“Have you changed your mind, your highness?” said Conroy’s sickeningly sweet voice above her ear.

Drina stepped back, as though startled by the sudden intrusion, the sharp heel of her boot stabbing Sir John’s foot with cold-blooded precision.

Ignoring the muffled curses behind her, Drina pulled the doorknob. The door screeched, barely moving. The princess stubbornly hung on the knob with her whole body, applying all her strength.

The door reluctantly gave in, letting out stale air and chilly draft through the crack. Drina slipped inside before the wooden behemoth that could break her in two slammed back shut.

She caught breath, which turned out to be quite a challenge. The air in the dungeons was heavy and filled with the smell of sulfur and something else, something elusive. Drina saw a stump of a torch on the wall. She pulled it out of its holder and emptied her small lantern into it. The flame from the glowing coals merrily licked the rotten tow on top, breathing new life into the dead stick. Bizarre shadows jumped up to dance on the walls.

Drina looked around her. The high arches resembled a cave rather than a part of a castle but the passage itself was narrow and could barely fit one person. A not particularly big-boned person. Drina could easily move here but it didn’t mean anything. She was tiny.

Tiny foolish Drina. Alone against the dark and the unknown.

She could hardly explain to herself now what she had intended to achieve by this. Perhaps she wanted to run away. Or to prove something. To prove that she wasn’t useless. That her stubbornness was not a flaw but a gift, a path to greatness.

While Drina’s mind was busy navigating the tangled mess that was her thoughts, her feet carried the princess deeper into the dungeon. The light of the heavy torch flickered, cutting through the somber blackness, making her absurd stroll seem a more or less conscious act. The passage went on and on, and it was quiet — too quiet for a place accommodating a horrible monster. No rustling, no howling. No sinister crunch of dry bones underfoot. Drina had imagined anything but this ringing silence broken only by the crackling of the coals in the torch and the soft patting of her own feet.

Until the silence was broken by something else.

She didn’t notice the first squeak. When the sound came again, she heard it but thought nothing of it. Just a trick of mind.

And then Drina felt something brush her leg. She froze. Even the tamed fire in her hand seemed to have stopped quivering. Slowly, she looked down. Slowly, she pulled up her skirts. In the center of the dimly lit spot, Drina saw a scrawny gray rat perched comfortably on the toe of the royal boot. The rat lazily lifted its beady eyes that twinkled mysteriously with the reflected light and squeaked. Drina squeaked back, quietly at first, echoing the lone rat, and as the terror began to fill her mind, her squeak grew into a largo of a shrill, ear-piercing squeal. She didn’t even have to shake her foot that was numb with fear — the terrified rodent fled into the sheltering darkness behind the girl’s back.

Still gripped by the shock of the sudden and not at all pleasant encounter, Drina found that her legs finally recovered and, with her skirts hitched up to her knees and gripped firmly in her fists, barreled forward. The deceptive silence and the meditative solitude had somehow lost all charm for her.

She ran for her life, not looking where she was going, not caring about keeping the torch alive, trying not to glance under her feet or listen to the sounds of the underground life.

The passage ended unexpectedly but unmistakably. Drina was painfully aware of it as she ran straight into a brick wall at full speed. The torch in her hand spluttered and went out. The smell of smoke was wafting in from somewhere to her side. A draft. The sweaty strands of hair that had stuck to her neck dried and fluttered in the moving air, tickling her skin. Somewhere to her left, there was an exit. Or an entrance. An entrance to the abode of the Abomination.

Her trembling fingers found the corner in the dark. The stones there were slick with wet moss as becomes a proper dungeon — or a basement, like the one Drina used to sneak into for baked apples at night, naively believing the soft-hearted cooks never noticed the young princess’s escapades.

All of a sudden, the tips of her fingers dipped into a wave of fresh air. There was an opening in the wall. Wishing she had taken better care of her torch, Drina took a deep breath and stepped into the welcoming coolness. Her feet slipped and, before her startled heart even jolted, Drina slid down a mud mound. The brickwork, niches and rocks hanging from the ceiling flashed by, but the princess had more important things to do than examine the scenery. She was rapidly losing balance, and when she almost reached the bottom, she finally tripped and came tumbling down on the hard packed earth. Her ears began to ring from the impact, and her eyes saw nothing in the pitch dark. She could swear she smelled candle grease and sulfur but it could easily be her imagination. More than anything, she wanted to lie down right there, curl into a ball and fall into a deep sleep.

Nothing. There was nothing there. She had fallen for Conroy’s trick and trapped herself in this grim place.

Her eyelids were leaden. Suddenly, through the haze, Drina sensed a movement in front of her — sensed it with her skin, because her eyes were still useless in the dark. The air was rippling.

Not quite aware of her actions, Drina scrambled to her feet and stepped forward on wobbling legs. Two greenish lights flashed in the dark. Another stumbling step, and her foot caught on a log and she fell again, exhausted, thinking she must be losing her mind.

The log was… odd. It felt like it was covered with some kind of solid curved plates. Like feathers… or scales.

Drina raised her head. Her eyes were getting used to having at their disposal only the dim light coming from somewhere from the ceiling. The light that now danced on black smooth scales, sharp teeth and long talons.

A dragon. The Abomination. Her certain death.

The dragon leaned closer, and Drina reflexively clutched his tail that she was still holding, staring at the gigantic lizard like a rabbit at a boa constrictor.

“Are you all right, ma’am?”

The sounds coming out of the enormous jaws were real — and human. The deep raspy voice made the air vibrate.

Drina opened her mouth and fainted.

 

***

She was warm — warm and cozy, and her head rested on the velvety soft moss. Her fingers drowsily gripped her shoulders and found velvet again. Real velvet this time. But she hadn’t had a cloak on when she was…

Drina opened her eyes and sat up abruptly. The events of the day came back to her faster than it could be expected under the circumstances. Fury, determination, fear and shock sprang to life all at once and mingled in her mind.

She remembered the dragon.

Drina looked around, searching for the dark figure, not quite sure if she wanted the memory to be true or just an illusion.

She found him almost right away. Once she got her bearings, she saw the Abomination at the same spot she had met it — a few meters from the gaping mouth of the exit. The dragon slept, the rays of sunlight touching the scales on his coiled body. In daylight, scarce as it was, Drina noticed new details. The scales were not exactly black, but rather the color of ripe blackberry, and when the dragon’s nostrils noisily sucked in the air, she could see streaks of gold between the scales. The dragon could breathe fire.

The Abomination was still sleeping, and Drina got curious where the dark crimson cloak that covered her knees like a pool of blood had come from. It was a woman’s cloak, with gold trim and a dainty clasp. It suddenly occurred to Drina that it could belong to some poor lady who had fallen victim to the dragon decades or even centuries ago.

For a moment, she felt blood freeze and curdle in her veins. But the voice of reason overcame the fear. After all, she was still alive. If the dragon indeed ate people indiscriminately, what was the point of keeping her warm and moving her to the more or less soft moss from the hard earth and letting her have a good night’s sleep?

Something was off. For all the legends Drina had heard, she couldn’t believe that the creature lying before her was a bloodthirsty monster. He had dangerous dagger-like teeth and each of his talons was the size of Drina. And he called her ma’am and he courteously offered her the coziest corner of his cave. Drina didn’t know what to think.

She had to examine the dungeon while he was asleep, to figure out the routes of escape. She had to return, to return triumphant, alive and well, with her head held proudly high.

Drina quietly extricated herself from the improvised blanket and slowly moved along the wall, intending to go around the dragon’s back, farther from his (probably) sensitive ears.

But the moment she reached him, two enormous eyes, each the size of a barrel, opened, fixing Drina with a focused stare of vertical slit pupils.

“Good morning,” drawled a languid voice from under the wide wing.

“Good morning,” Drina echoed absently, her voice matching the dragon’s inflexion.

The wing shifted, opening a massive lower jaw. The dragon yawned, trying to cover his gaping mouth with the tip of the wing and failing as the wing couldn’t reach the destination. It looked like he was acting on an old habit. So silly. How would a winged lizard even get such a habit?

“Well, I suppose we should introduce ourselves before getting to breakfast,” the dragon said.

In the morning light, she made out a long blood-red tongue twisting rocking between his jaws. It must be hard to imitate human speech when you have a snake’s mouth…

Wait. Did he say _breakfast_?

“You are not going to eat me, are you?” she asked in the same absent manner.

And what would she do, if he said that he was indeed looking forward to tasting the royal flesh?

The dragon jerked his eyebrows — or rather that fleshy part above the upper eyelids where human eyebrows would be. The dragon was perplexed.

“Why would I eat you? First of all, I do not in fact eat humans, second, I would not eat a lady under any circumstances, and finally, you still haven’t introduced yourself, and I am still too intrigued.”

Drina. Alexandrina. Princess Alexandrina. She couldn’t will her tongue to say her name.

“Victoria,” her mouth was quicker than her mind.

Victoria was the name everyone called her mother. And the heroine of an old song. That Victoria was brave and free and could fly.

“Just Victoria?” the dragon asked and, seeing his eyes so close, the girl couldn’t miss the mischievous twinkle.

His gaze was intent and searching, as though he knew and understood everything in the world but masterfully kept it a secret.

“Yes,” the princess nodded stubbornly, refusing to admit her lie. “Victoria,” she repeated, holding out her hand. Force of habit.

The dragon glanced at her tiny palm and chuckled before gracefully stretching his neck to reach it. It was like a kiss — the beast’s massive snout brushing Drina’s delicate knuckles. His scales felt warm and hard but their touch was careful and soft.

“What is your name?” Drina asked as ceremoniously as the dragon was acting.

The dragon looked thoughtful. She could almost see his scales arch, forming a crease between the two emerald green eyes, right where the bridge of his nose would be if he were human.

“It has been a long time since anyone called me by my name,” said the dragon. “I have almost forgotten…”

“But you did talk to someone, didn’t you?” Drina was surprised to hear that she wasn’t the first to talk to the beast.

“Certainly. To kings. To lords. They always come to me. Sooner or later, they all remember the eternal slave of the crown. I have seen many rulers. All kinds of them, gentle souls and tyrants, brave warriors and wimping cowards… I couldn’t say for how many years I have advised those occupying the throne upstairs on the affairs of state.”

 _He will advise me someday too_. The thought flashed in her mind, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome.

“Still… How should I address you?” she asked carefully, seeing the dragon’s eyes glaze over with the memories of the centuries-long service to the royal house.

“The last time I was called by my name was forty years ago. He was a good king. Honest and bright.”

Her father. Drina had never known him. Her heart started racing. She suddenly realized that this day would change her life.

“He called me… What was it? Something starting with _M_ …” the dragon muttered. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I cannot remember.”

The princess tilted her head, giving the dragon a roguish look.

“Well then… I shall call you Lord M. Lords serve and advise the king, don’t they? How are you different?”

He stared at her, his jaws half open, the menacingly sharp fangs glistening. She might have found him horrifying, if she weren’t so confident that she had just shaken him to his very core.

“Whatever pleases you, ma’am,” the dragon said at last, bowing his head.


	2. Chapter 2

 

****_[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) _ ** **

 

The bells rang in the still of the night, untampered by any other sound. No one was sleeping but everything was quiet.  Even the starlight seemed dim.

The king was dead.

Not that anyone was surprised. The moment had been a long time coming and perhaps everyone could sense it. Common people worked harder, not knowing how the royal grace would turn the next day; the nervous Lords ingratiated themselves on Sir Conroy, expecting him to be the one standing behind the girl princess. Minor nobles sought the favor of the future queen’s mother…

In one way or another, everyone had been preparing for that day. And yet when it came, it came suddenly. Listening to the mournful night chime, people were coming to realize how unsteady and nebulous life was. Whatever you do, whoever you are, death will find you. However firmly you stand on your feet, turbulent times will get to you.

Everyone had been preparing but no one proved to be ready. No one except Drina.

That night, she sat on the windowsill in the long gallery, trying to sort out her emotions away from her mother’s and Conroy’s eyes.

She was free. Everything would be different now — at least this was a sure fact. Her heart was hammering in her chest as fast as her dear Lord M’s.

A small smile blossomed on Drina’s lips when she thought about the dragon. He still had no idea that she was royalty. He didn’t suspect that she would be the recipient of his wisdom in the next few decades. He didn’t know how happy this prospect made her… Who could have thought that the only living being in the entire kingdom who deserved the new queen’s trust would be a dragon?

Less than a month had passed since the day they first met, and yet it had done more for Drina’s knowledge of the wide world than ten years of edification and lectures from other people. Lord M was a gold mine of all manner of stories and tales — funny or sad, they never failed to be terribly fascinating. The dragon was happy when she came to him and respectful when she left. He spoke of faraway lands and their wonders, of the mysteries hidden in the patterns of the stars, of the countless priceless manuscripts that were stored in the castle library, unavailable to the _little useless Drina._

That was how things had been up to this day. She was the queen now. She was free now — to read what she wanted, to gallop in the woods to her heart’s content, to be friends only with those she was fond of. She would strip away the hurtful myth around Lord M, the aspersive rumors about the Abomination. She would free her dear friend and counselor from his chains, from his imprisonment.

The bell struck for the last time in the still of the night.

_The King is dead. Long live the Queen._

 

***

_“If you are reading this, then you are worthy._

_In the name of all saints, all kings of the past, priests and druids, We in Our Royal Grace reveal to the person reading this document the secret of the Beech Castle: be it known to you that the creature we call the Abomination in our ancient legends is a dragon of unprecedented power. And, as it becomes a royal majesty, be not like a young frail maiden, cast away your fear and go down into the dungeons and listen to what the dragon tells you, for his greatest Power is not his ferocity but his wisdom. Beware exposing him to the moonlight, for no one returns after, but in the daylight offer not human beings to the dragon to feast on, even be they your foes. Treasure the dragon as one must treasure one’s lords, never letting him off his chain, for the dragon’s life is long and he shall be of use to your children and their children’s children.”_

 

Drina frowned, peering into the yellowed paper. She did not remember much of her history lessons but she imagined the king, the author of this document, as a rather unpleasant man, whose ambitions exceeded his abilities.

“Is something wrong?” asked the royal steward who stood still on the other side of the wide oak desk.

“No. Thank you, it is all abundantly clear. Are there any other parts of the will I should know of?” Drina turned the sheet over and folded her hands before her on the desk.

“Ahem…” the silver-haired statesman cleared his throat. “No, there are no other issues related to the will. But… I have to ask you… are you quite sure you wish to be called Victoria, your majesty?”

The corners of her lips twitched in a small smile.

“Absolutely.”

The steward nodded and walked backwards to the door, his back bent in a dutiful bow. No sooner had the door closed, Queen Victoria leapt to her feet, all her dignified serenity forgotten, the frilled froth of her petticoats whirling from the impulsive movement. The train of her dress rustled across the stone floor as she hurried from her study to her bedroom.

She darted to the wooden chest at the foot of her bed, her fingers fumbling messily with the lace of her snow-white gown.

A shorter skirt, so that the hem wouldn’t get under her feet, a cloak, a pair of old trusted comfortable shoes. One hand picking up a three-candle candelabra in a well-practiced gesture, the other throwing the hood over her head, Victoria stepped into the halls of the night castle.

The soft candlelight washed the familiar walls, of which she was now the rightful owner. There was more light now — and more lightness. More whispers and chuckles, more quiet singing, more nice smells — flowers and freshly baked bread and buns… New life had been breathed into the castle. The queen’s youthful energy infected everything around her and was everywhere now, from the playful banter of young servants and lighter tones of courtiers’ conversations to the uncommon liveliness of the city outside the castle walls.

There it was, her destination, the massive mahogany double door, knockers shaped as lion’s paws and the breeze coming through the crack under the door and chilling her ankles.

The queen was ready to appear before her first counselor.

 

***

The queen had spent the past month practicing to control her balance, and the way she sneaked into the cave of the dungeons was truly elegant — she managed to stop herself mere inches from the dragon’s snout.

Lord M was asleep, his lungs pumping the air with the noise that sounded like murmur of thousands of voices. Victoria used to think that it was as if the souls devoured by the dragon were pleading to let them out of his belly.

The queen coughed, loudly and pointedly, gently touching the smooth scales. Her small hands were barely larger than those chitinous plates that shimmered magically in the half-light of the cave.

The dragon woke up immediately. He could not help sensing her presence — even as she was approaching the entrance. He had sensed her long before he heard her footsteps. Time hadn’t diminished his sense of smell. He knew exactly what news his young friend was bringing him, what spectacular secret she had finally decided to reveal.

He knew how excited, how happy she was, he knew that her curls had kept the traces of rosewater since morning, he knew how fresh her garment chosen specifically for this visit was. Lord M watched Victoria from beneath his heavy half-lowered eyelids, unable to stop feigning sleep. He enjoyed watching her so close, curiosity burning in the aquamarine eyes, no timidity in her gestures, animated and persistent in her stubborn determination to wake him.

“Come on, Lord M! Wake up!” she said imperiously, and the dragon had to suppress a smile.

Laughter was bubbling somewhere around the dragon’s heart against him will. So odd, he thought, that after centuries of melancholy, he was still able to find a reason to laugh.

“Wake up, you lazy lizard!” Victoria said in a singsong voice.

The dragon’s jaws shifted, nearly showing the queen his smirk. Trying to fight off the wave of laughter already tickling his throat, the dragon let out a loud snore that did not sound particularly natural.

“Lord M, wake up this instant and speak to your Queen in a befitting manner!” Victoria cried out in indignation.

He opened his eyes and allowed a smile soften the harsh line of his toothy mouth.

“It’s an honor to me, ma’am, to be introduced to such a glorious sovereign,” he thundered.

Victoria did her best to look grave and dignified. Her face was serene and her gaze was strikingly confident. Her feet, on the other hand, betrayed her nervousness as she rocked from heel to toe.

“You don’t look surprised,” she said, visibly disappointed.

“I dare say, ma’am, that your regal dignity was evident from the first moment of our first encounter.”

And she and her father were terribly alike. The same intelligent eyes, the same stubborn mouth. The same kindness they found for the old dragon.

Victoria was smiling at him, so warmly and with such relief — perhaps, deep down, she had always known that her cute little omission could not have fooled Lord M.

“You don’t think I am too small to be dignified?”

“Why would I think so?” the dragon tilted his massive head.

“I am the size of your one talon,” Victoria pursed her lips, grimacing with displeasure.

“To me, ma’am, you are every inch a queen.”

She glanced at him and the gratitude brimming in her eyes was so great that the fire, the eternal fire tearing him from inside, roared a hundred times louder, its burning pain a hundred times stronger.

Something squeaked in the corner, interrupting the idyllic scene. A small dark shadow darted under Victoria’s feet.

A desperate screech shook the walls of the dungeons and struck the dragon’s sensitive ears like a hammer. Without a moment’s hesitation, Lord M opened his jaws, incinerating the unfortunate rat in the white fire.

Victoria fell silent, staring at the handful of ashes.

“Why did you do it?” she asked in a weak voice.

“To make you stop shrieking, ma’am,” Lord M grumbled.

“Yes… Still, I feel sorry for it…” she looked up at him, her eyes still wide with horror.

Lord M did not answer. He regretted having done away with the rat so quickly and within sight of the impressionable queen. But… he just wanted to please her. She started screaming so suddenly — only a moment before that she had exuded such pluck and courage.

“You are frightened of me, my lady, aren’t you?” he asked, dreading to lose her company and her trust.

But the dragon’s earnest tone only made Victoria laugh.

“No! Don’t say that! Not at all,” her face brightened up, color returning to her cheeks. “I trust you.”

The fire in his veins flared brighter, gold snaking between blueish scales.

“So you are frightened of rats but not of a dragon,” Lord M said.

“Well, you can’t get under my skirts,” Victoria smirked, bravely trying to laugh off her display of faint-heartedness.

Oh, she was playing with fire.

Oh, she smelled like cinnamon and trouble.

 

***

Victoria’s days were now full of toil and trouble. She spared no effort, wrapping her head around the affairs of state and exploring the library that had long been the object of her desires. She devoured books, reading two at a time, finishing half a dozen a week.

She discussed each of them with Lord M, who always listened closely, praising her opinions but never ignoring the truth and making tactful comments whenever Victoria began to confuse her fantasies with the author’s intent.

Their friendship was favorable and useful to her in all respects, but the dragon had nothing to complain about either. He found her company exceedingly pleasant and her manners easy and thorough. That is, if you asked his mind.

And if you asked his heart, it would say that the dragon loved Victoria with the passion that matched her own. Her thoughts were not always precise but her power of observation, sagacity and perceptiveness thrilled Lord M’s soul more than he was willing to admit. Victoria was his breath of fresh air and his poison that made him want to run away. He could not love her, and he could not allow her to become aware of his feelings.

So when the queen announced that she was granting him his freedom, he accepted it with relief.

She, on the other hand, had believed that he would stay anyway. Her belief was not unfounded. His attachment to her had become too strong. The dragon admonished himself, saying that he was being unreasonable, that he forgot that he had been a slave serving kings all those years. A convenient, accommodating source of wisdom, an object of secret pride, something to scare small children into obedience, a tamed monster on a chain. He remembered many rulers who had seen him as… someone he hadn’t been for many centuries. Someone whose shadow still lived in him like an old sore scar.

It would all be over soon enough. Victoria’s visits were getting more frequent, and she no longer tried to keep her incognito. She wanted everyone to get used to the idea of the dragon before she freed him. She wanted people to think of Lord M as her loyal counselor and friend and not the Abomination.

The queen visited him in the morning, in the afternoon and, more often, at night. He did not like it. He thought that Victoria stayed longer every night and his hospitality soon began to give way to the terrible sense of foreboding. The stars would break out in the sky, and Lord M would try every imaginable way to send Victoria on her way, cajoling, making up various reasons, feigning indisposition, hurting the queen’s feelings.

She would purse her lips and leave, looking like she was never coming back only to return before half a day passed. All her instincts screamed that something wasn’t right. There had to be a reason he sent her away so hastily, and the words on the old parchment bequeathed to her kept coming back to her.

_Beware exposing him to the moonlight, for no one returns after…_

He was kind and courteous to her, he never doubted her. Victoria didn’t have the name for what she felt for this mythical creature. But she had to unravel her dear friend’s secret. She had to find out. And the night hours when she was not allowed to see him seemed to be the key to the last fragment of the mosaic.

Victoria’s usual willfulness often played into her hand but more often, it got her in trouble. However, her curiosity about Lord M was so great that she wouldn’t listen to the voice of reason.

She went to bed late that night, having sent her maid away completely exhausted. Victoria had no doubt that the girl would sleep like a log until morning, oblivious to the plans swarming in her young mistress’s busy head.

 

***

She walked briskly, not allowing her mind to be distracted by the thoughts of rodents that might get under her feet. Time was all she had now. Even her courage seemed to seep away when she dared to contemplate the truth behind the mystery that haunted her.

Victoria had the vague feeling of déjà vu before this encounter with the unknown, recalling her journey a few months ago. She had walked so slowly and carefully then, and now her steps were so swift that her side was already cramping. Victoria was running from her own doubts.

The familiar dead end. A few steps to the side and she was sliding down. Quiet as a cat. Inconspicuous as a shadow.

Shadows. They danced across the cave, fusing with the strips of warm light that illuminated Victoria in the dark. The air smelled of candles, and the smell was more distinct than that of sulfur. Now that Victoria thought of it, the smell had always been there, she was just used to it and gave it no mind. Why would a dragon need candles?

Something felt off.

Clinging to the walls, hiding in the shade, Victoria headed deeper into the cave, towards the source of the light.

There were many candelabras with cheap tallow candles burning in them. There were lanterns, big and small, all dusty, some of them with shattered windows. Three torches. All this splendor in one corner of the cave.

A human sat in that corner. A man. Victoria could see the coarse curls of his disheveled hair, a strip of the sharp cheekbones with dark stubble under, a broad back covered with a loose shirt. The stranger’s head was bent over a book, his cheek resting on his fist. Victoria could not make out his face from where she was standing.

Who was this man? What was he doing here? And why wasn’t the dragon--

Wait a minute. Where _was_ Lord M? As enormous as the cave was, he could hardly hide somewhere and remain unseen.

The man with the book bent lower and let out a muffled groan. Victoria nearly rushed to help him, because the pain in his voice could not leave her indifferent, but she stopped herself as she noticed that he was standing up — unsteadily, as if shuddering in fever. His right trouser leg caught on a chain.

Victoria recoiled back into the sheltering shadows just as the man staggered past her. He pulled off his shirt on the go. As if in the haze of a nightmare, Victoria saw the thick bright red stripes snaking across the stranger’s back. They looked like cracks and… fire.

The man screamed, doubling over again, clutching his sinewy arms hard as though he wanted to tear them off. His scream echoed through the cave, and Victoria could not hold back a loud gasp.

The stranger swung around to face her so quickly as if she was a spring in the desert. She saw high cheekbones and a thick beard with scattered silver hairs. Sharp nose, thin lips. The face that seemed carved in stone would look grim if it wasn’t for the man’s breathtaking eyes, light and green like leaves in sunlight.

She knew those eyes! The picture broken into chaotic pieces came together at once.

“Lord M!” Victoria whispered, taking a step forward and holding out her hand.

Another seizure struck the man. He staggered again, turning away from Victoria, and dropped to his knees. The hard jagged protrusions that ran down the dragon’s spine were already breaking through the taut skin.

He bit his lips so hard that they bled, trying not to scream in her presence. The wave of fiery heat subsided for a few moments.

“Get out!” Lord M yelled hoarsely, terribly, putting his remaining strength into a commanding look that brooked no argument.

But she took another step forward. And another one. Her fingers reached for his tortured face that was speckled with beads of sweat. He turned his head away, feeling the fire burst into his veins again. Victoria was shaking as if in fever. She was not thinking, driven by sheer instinct. The palm of her hand fell on the man’s chest already erupting in splotches that reminded serpentine skin in color and shape. The man’s heart pounded frantically, glaring like a horrible red lantern, its light dim but hot.

Oh, how she wanted to help him, to ease his torment, to take him in her arms, to shelter him from this pain. To trace his face with her fingers, erasing this sorrowful expression — the evidence of compliance and resignation.

Her hand was so blissfully cool. She smelled like cinnamon and… comfort. For a moment, Lord M stopped feeling the fire devouring him from within. He closed his eyes, barely enjoying the softness of her fingers fluttering over his heart. But her freshness couldn’t save him. Victoria jerked her hand away, fearing the scalding heat.

“Out!” he barked again.

No, it wouldn’t go away. Retreating instinctively into the damp darkness, Victoria saw a dazzling burst of red sparks shower her friend. She squeezed her eyes shut, covering her face with her hands. She already stood in the far end of the cave, and as the fresh breeze from the crack in the wall mussed her hair, Victoria’s unseeing eyes flit over the colossal dark figure that spread its wings, releasing flame from its jaws onto the vaulted arches of the cave.

Rage. Fury. Despair.

Barely aware of herself and her surroundings, Victoria reached her comfortable quarters. She collapsed on her bed, not bothering to undress or even take of her shoes, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. She lay prone, soaking her pillow in bitter salty moisture, afraid to even touch her cheeks.

She still felt the tingling in her fingers. The heat of intimacy fogging her mind. The fire consuming her heart.

 

***

The next morning, her head was heavier than a mountain. Her eyes was red from weeping, and yet Victoria felt that the tears had washed away all the mingled emotions and shock. Only dismay and profound compassion were still smoldering somewhere deep inside like embers in a dying bonfire.

But outwardly, the queen was calm personified. She washed her face and brushed her tangled curls, and firmly turned down breakfast, ordering her lunch to be served in the library.

Among the shelves that ran high up the walls, breathing in the smell of dust and lavender, she finally felt safe. With each new volume she took in her hands, with each new screech the ladder made as it moved, Victoria felt confidence returning to her.

She picked books, grabbing everything she thought relevant to her subject and taking them to her favorite armchair. Soon, there was no room on the table, and Victoria without hesitation or regret started putting the tomes on the soft sofa until, completely exhausted, she decided that she had enough now.

She tucked her legs under her, making herself comfortable on the carpet, and put the first leather bound book on her lap.

Minutes flew by, pages rustled, Victoria yawned and rubbed her strained eyes.

The answer wouldn’t come.

Occasionally, that hateful malicious name, “Abomination”, would turn up in the text, making Victoria, nostrils flaring, stare ferociously at the lines narrating the legend: a beast came, whose shape and shadow blotted out the sun and the moon, and the beast terrified the people to death until a lord defeated and enchained it. The same story every single time. No deviations from the standard plot. No names, no indication that it was a dragon, or where it had come from, or who the victorious lord was…

It was at the very least strange. Victoria’s nanny used to tell her all kinds of tales when she was little, and many of them were practically identical, different in form but not dramatically so. And all the tales of the Abomination were saying the same thing. Did no one remember the hero’s name? Did no one write down the name of the king that had ruled the land when it happened?

Empty plates at her elbow, a breeze blowing occasional spatter of summer rain into the open window, Victoria was nodding off. There was almost nothing left to research, and she still had nothing. The queen was disconcerted, frustrated and very drowsy but the mulish stubbornness, that lovely family trait, didn’t let her give up. A few more books.

Her hand pulled out the most battered book at random. The cover was so frayed that it barely held the pages together.

With a bitter sigh, Victoria opened the book in the middle and the first word her eyes caught was “Abomination”. She was about to hurl the unfortunate tome at the wall when the other words that accompanied the beast’s name registered in her brain.

 

 _…Lord Melbourne made the decision to retire from affairs of state. The king and he made a deal that he would continue to help His Majesty as he was able, the lord agreed to be locked within the dungeons of the Beech Castle and pass the time trying to overcome his affliction. Enduring terrible torment, the lord managed to subdue the beast’s temper. However,_ _none of the druids summoned by the king was able to help the monarch’s loyal friend and he stayed in the dungeons forever, hiding his curse, and his dragon shape has been known as the “Abomination” ever since._

 

The queen turned the page back, searching for the beginning of the story, but the pages were gone — loosened by time and lost or torn out intentionally.

But it was at least _something_. Now Victoria no longer felt that she was lost in a dark, tangled maze. She saw a guiding light.

 

***

She came to him at sunset. The dragon was lying on the ground, his snout turned upwards, his stare fixed on the beclouded sky. The ceiling in the dungeons went beyond the city walls, and the rain water flowed down from the mountains, its streams whirling in the hollows of the cave and running further, deep into the bowels of the earth.

Lord M did not turn his head at the sound of her footsteps. Only his tail shifted a little to stop the puddles from getting to the queen’s feet.

“Please, talk to me,” she said quietly but her voice drowned in the echoing murmurs of running water.

She sighed, carefully jumped over a particularly wide stream and came closer, going around the dragon’s body until she stopped right in front of his nose.

Lord M’s eyes were open. The pupils were oblong-shaped but these were undoubtedly the same eyes she had seen last night.

“I know everything,” Victoria said louder. “I know that you used to be a man and then someone used some devious magic and you locked yourself here.”

The dragon did not speak. Under his piercing gaze, Victoria felt her cheeks growing pink.

Before, she had known only the dragon, the ancient, wise and, in a way, sexless, creature. He was charming and fascinating… enormous winged lizard. Now, the thought of the human, the man trapped inside the beast, the man who probably could think… usual men’s thoughts… made Victoria feel a pull of excitement, as if something new entered their relationship, their friendship, changing it at the root but somehow making it stronger.

“Talk to me,” she pleaded, her shining eyes flitting up to his and bravely meeting his gaze.

The dragon heaved a sigh, a wave of warm air washing over her. He smelled the same. Sulfur and mystery.

“What do you want to hear?” he asked, his tone the epitome of melancholy.

“Everything. From the beginning. What was your name? I know you were Lord Melbourne but you must have had a given name?”

“I don’t remember…”

“Try to remember. Please.”

He looked surprised. She pleaded with the fervor of a young woman but she also commanded him with the stern dignity of a true queen. All in one phrase.

“I think… William,” the dragon frowned.

“William…” Victoria echoed. “Who cursed you?” she added impatiently.

The pause was longer this time. The dragon was trying either to remember or to find the right words.

“I was young. Oh, it happened so long ago… I had a title, a fortune, I wanted to be useful to my kingdom. And like many young men, I had a misfortune of falling in love. She was beautiful, so beautiful. So young, so… rapturous. So sensitive to everything…”

Lord M paused again, peering into the queen’s face.

“Do I remind you of her?” Victoria said suddenly. She felt something strange, something terribly wrong raising its head in her chest as she listened to him talking about that lady.

“No,” the dragon shook his head. “She was… not of this world. She was drawn by beauty in all its forms, and one day she left me for a poet. But the poet was cruel to her. She returned home, fell ill and took to bed. She went out like a light of a wax candle… Soon after her death, her mother came to me. She told me it was all my fault. I didn’t argue, because I felt that the old woman was right. But it wasn’t enough for her and she cursed me. _You shall wear scales until you save the most precious thing in the world,_ she said. Such nonsense. The witch could not understand that everyone has their own measure of precious…”

Victoria was lost for words, her mind unable to encompass all the years, all the pain that her friend had experienced. She tried but she could not wrap her head around it. All she knew for certain was that Lord M was profoundly, terribly unhappy.

“I can free you. You can fly away. Go wherever you want,” she spoke with that confidence that always both stunned and appealed to him.

“You are very kind, your majesty,” he said.

He was sad. Sad that she wanted to send him away. Oh, she felt it and her soul sang triumphantly. He could not bear to leave her. Victoria had never found someone’s sadness so glorious.

“But you can stay if you want!” she said quickly. “I shall have the chain taken off anyway! And if you want… I would be happy to have such a wise and good counselor by my side!”

The dragon sighed.

“No. I cannot stay.”

His words cut sharper than a knife.

“Not because I do not enjoy your company,” Lord M added hastily. “But because I am tired. The chains are not a problem. I can break them in a moment if I wish. But for many years, I have been persecuted as a monster, until time erased my home and every memory of me. I am used to serving kings. Do you think you are the first queen to visit me?”

“But were they… as friendly with you? As… close?” the words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.

Tears, unbidden and abundant, rolled down her cheeks, but the queen was oblivious to them.

“No!” the dragon’s voice sounded almost desperate. “They may have been close, but you are the most incredible creature I have ever met in my long life.”

“Then stay!”

“I cannot.”

The words were said. The sentence was passed.

Victoria staggered back, stepping into a puddle. Her shoes filled with cold water but she had never cared about wet feet less.

“Forgive me,” she said and the sound of her own voice was strange to her. “I should not have held you back for so long. You are free, Lord… Melbourne. You may fly wherever you wish.”

The indifference in her voice coated the flaming heart of the dragon in ice.

Lord M spread out his wings. The gust of wind messed the queen’s curls. One stroke, then another, the unstoppable force tugged on the ancient chain, pulling it taut, and the chain did not put much of a fight.

Not sparing a single look back at the queen, the dragon rose into the night sky. He would not go far now, for the hour that stopped the effect of the spell was nigh.

Victoria stood still, a small figure stubbornly looking away from the sky. Alone. Again.

The cave smelled like rainwater and broken heart.


	3. Chapter 3

 

_**[© Catelyn May](https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100016771998221) ** _

 

John Conroy had never been so furious with the queen. The so-called queen. The silly girl, damn her!

“But, your majesty,” Sir John hissed through his teeth. “You must understand that the dragon has been seen many times already and the situation may become critical very soon…”

“Sir John, have there been complaints of destruction or other damage caused by this dragon?” Victoria asked dryly, for the umpteenth time.

“There have not! But it’s a dragon, Drina!” Conroy barked.

“I know. A dragon,” the queen made her voice sound as cold as she could. “And you are forgetting yourself, Sir John. I shall forgive you this time, but I advise you against calling me by this name and speaking to me in this tone.”

Grinding his teeth, Conroy angrily jerked his head in a semblance of a bow and stormed out.

She dropped her head on the back of her armchair and wearily closed her eyes. How could she get Lord M out of her head if she kept hearing about him every day?

It was a torture. She missed him more than she could ever expect. An hour had barely passed before she began to regret having let him leave her. In two weeks, she was going insane, unable to make things right.

But she hardly had time to be bored. The vehemence of a hunter burned brighter in Conroy’s eyes by the day. Having failed to become the queen’s private secretary, he wanted to get at least something. Catching a dragon would be a nice enough compensation. If he only knew how the talk of an anti-dragon crusade broke Victoria’s heart, he would redouble his efforts.

Her mother, on the other hand, had a different kind of hunt on her mind. It did not become a girl of Victoria’s age to be unmarried. Even if she was a queen. She was showered with names of foreign princes every day, but Victoria remained indifferent. Albert’s name was heard more often than others’. When it came to Albert, her mama was particularly persistent. Handsome, well-educated, an excellent rider. Albert was the right age, Albert could become her pillar of support.

Victoria wouldn’t listen. What was the point? She knew that Albert would never understand.

 _He_ was the only one who understood.

 

***

The air smelled of roses. The city folk had filled the main street, scattering rose petals over the bride and groom. Everyone wanted to see the queen in her bridal gown and the prince that had turned her head in a matter of days.

Victoria was smiling. She thought that life with Albert would not be boring. He was so amusing in his propriety and pedantry. There seemed to such a mysterious air about him. He had appeared just in time to entertain the queen with his intriguing personality. And he _was_ handsome. She could heard hear mother’s voice in her head when she thought that.

If you feel depressed, do something. Find a mystery and solve it. Distract yourself.

Rose petals fluttered down the satin of her gown, and Victoria stubbornly breathed in the intoxicating aroma, refusing to think that she could have taken someone else as her husband. Anyone else…

When the first arrow swished past her face, she didn’t realize it. She only felt Albert’s cold fingers on her shoulder. He threw her down on the floor of the carriage a moment before the second arrow flew into the back of the seat, black feathers of its fletching trembling.

People were no longer laughing, they were screaming, and the air now smelled of smoke instead of roses. Victoria gingerly looked out of the carriage and saw men with guns. Their mouths were covered with black kerchiefs. They had pitchforks, bows, slings, one of them was even carrying a crossbow.

“Off with the queen!” one of them shouted and Victoria thought that his voice sounded familiar.

Albert’s fingers were still gripping her shoulders.

“We have to go,” he whispered, dragging her out of the carriage.

“But the people…” Victoria hesitated. “I cannot let them hurt someone!”

“What can you do? Are you going to fight these thugs? Let’s go,” Albert pulled her hand.

She jumped out. People were running about in panic. Nobody cared about the queen — nobody except those men in black.

They ran around their carriage, intending to mix with the crowd, but when they turned the corner, three men were waiting for them there. Two of them pulled Albert away. The third was clutching a big knife. Tall figure, hard stare. He was the one shouting a minute ago, calling for overthrowing her.

“Good day, Sir John,” her voice dripped with contempt.

The man smirked under the thin fabric of his mask. Victoria saw the steel flash right in front of her eyes.

She finally felt fear enveloping her. You can dodge arrows. You can run away. But steel smelled of cold and death. She could almost hear Conroy thinking, choosing where to stab her, she already saw herself trying to shield herself with her arms and him cutting her arms, blood flowing. Animal fear paralyzed her from head to toe. Her mind was screaming, telling her to run, but her body stood petrified, her eyes staring at the deadly snake head on the knife handle. Conroy raised his hand…

She felt the heat first as it scalded the back of her head. Then light blinded her, and Victoria squeezed her eyes shut, seeing the bright flame through the skin of her eyelids. The bright flame right in front of her — on the same spot where Sir John was supposed to be.

In the next moment, her waist was locked in a tight coil, and the ground disappeared from under her feet. She opened her eyes to see a pile of ashes where her might-have-been murderer had stood. Like that rat…

The ground was moving away rapidly. Victoria saw the shock on Albert’s face, the city folk’s wide eyes. Her mother was about to faint.

Victoria closed her eyes and counted to ten. When she opened them, she could no longer make out the people. All she could see was green squares of fields and gray triangles of mountain peaks.

“Where are we going, Lord M?” Victoria shouted over the piping wind.

“Wherever you wish, ma’am,” the dragon said.

He rose higher, dipping them into the clouds. The air was moist there but Victoria’s arms were curled around her dragon’s warm leg, and it was enough to keep her from freezing.

The sky smelled like freedom.

***

She dozed off, lulled by the soft rhythmic rocking as they flew, but when they started to descend, she felt it at once and woke up to see the smooth endless blanket of the sea spreading under them. Victoria could make out the white crests of the waves.

The view was hardly more extraordinary than the view of a girl in dragon’s talons. Still, Victoria thought she was dreaming. After a life of isolation, like a princess in the tower, she now wanted to travel, to see every corner of the world.

She rubbed her eyes and carefully tried to stretch her numb muscles.

“Almost there,” Lord M boomed, slowly climbing down to the coast.

Victoria softly stroked his scales. The setting sun was hiding behind the clouds but a few rays of sunlight managed to pierce the grayness, the dragon hide shimmering like sapphires mixed with coal.

A sand ridge rose ahead. It was a wild rock-bound beach. The abundant moss gave the rocks a pleasant greenish tint. There were a few twisted trees that had long lost their foliage to the gushing winds. A typical northern beach landscape.

Hovering above the sand hills, the dragon loosened his grip, and Victoria carefully slid down on the sand. Lord M landed too, raising a small cloud of dust.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked, finally getting the chance to examine her properly.

The wedding dress lost almost none of its whiteness but the train was trailing uselessly. She had lost the crown while still in the carriage, and the braids that had been wrapped around her head in the morning were now falling on her back, shielding her bare shoulders from the biting wind. Oddly, her misadventures left no trace on her body, not a single cut or bruise. But if she closed her eyes, she could still see the sunlight dancing on the sharp blade of the knife held by a firm ruthless hand.

“I am,” Victoria nodded, feeling safe and peaceful for the first time in days.

Both did not speak for a while, listening to the murmur of waves, the squawking of seagulls and the howling of the wind in the elaborate lace of the rocks. Victoria looked into the dragon’s sparkling eyes, knowing that her mind was made up.

“How did you know that I needed you?” she said, putting her hands on his snout.

“It wasn’t difficult. People have very intense emotions that leave traces like smells. Dragons can smell fear miles off, particularly when they are… attuned to someone specifically.”

A smile touched Victoria’s lips. Overwhelmed by emotions, she leaned forward, awkwardly embracing the giant scaly snout.

“Lord M… I have missed you so much!” she cried out, finally releasing her friend.

He stared at her, thinking that he was beyond rescue now. For so many years, Melbourne had believed nothing in the world could surprise him, and it was his own heart that caught him by surprise.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon, drawing a pale pink line along the edge of the sea through the clouds. Victoria and Lord M sat on the sand as he told her where he had been in the past weeks.

“I saw my old house. It is disrepair just as I assumed, but the walls are still standing… Then again, I shall not be living there anyway…” he said, watching the colors of the day fade from the sky and the first twinkling stars appear.

“It’s fine. I shall have a new house built for you. One that will be big enough,” Victoria yawned.

“A house for a dragon?” Melbourne’s laughter rolled like thunder. “People will think your majesty are insane!”

“Ha! I will never believe there haven’t been far whimsier monarchs,” Victoria was already half-asleep, leaning against the dragon’s warm side.

He was about to let his laughter roll again — it had been a long time since he had so many reasons for sincere merriment. But Victoria was asleep, and he sat covering her with his wing, waiting for the hour when magic changed his appearance.

The wise dragon always condemned recklessness but never before had the man inside longed for condemnation so badly.

 

***

A big bright star rose in the center of the sky, and the dragon felt a faint shiver run down his body. Victoria was sound asleep, warm and cozy at Lord M’s side. Carefully, he opened and spread his wings, making sure that the girl slid down on the sand softly. The queen frowned in her sleep, her hands reaching, grabbing at empty air, then wrapped her arms around herself and went quiet again.

Lord M briskly pattered to the far end of the beach, where the rocks jutted out far into the sea almost reaching the water and could hide him from view during the painful transformation.

 

_The petals were falling. Victoria was smiling, bubbling with joy and happiness like sparkling wine. Her hand rested in a strong warm hand._

_The air smelled of roses… and sulfur._

_Victoria looked down to see her skirt peppered with scales, black and shimmering blue. She turned her head and met big green eyes._

_The green spread, filling the world around her._

_“Wake up, bride!” screeched the old witch’s voice._

 

Victoria jumped, spitting out sand. Her heart was pounding, her teeth clattering. It had grown distinctly colder.

She spun around, realizing she was alone. She wanted to howl and weep but anger kept her on her feet. As good as Lord M’s intentions might have been, it was too cruel of him to hurt her again.

The dream left her with a vague sense of premonition.

_Bride…_

Victoria energetically dusted the sand off her gown. She forgot that it had been but a day since she intended to make someone the center of her universe.

Suddenly, she caught glimpse of a flash out of the corner of her eye. Crimson dust flew up from behind the rocks up ahead, outlining a winged silhouette. Victoria hitched up her skirts and ran, drawn by the fire magic. Like a moth to a flame.

Her feet in fancy shoes stumbled, sinking in the wet sand. It was cold but the queen’s cheeks burned from running.

When she turned around the rock, her ankles twisted and Victoria fell on the ground beside Lord M.

He sat on his haunches, covering his eyes with one hand. Sharp points of webbed limbs stuck out of his back, growing smaller and smaller until they turned into tense shoulder blades.

Victoria crawled up to him, registering with amazement that all her anger was gone. When her fingers touched his naked shoulder, Lord M flinched, taking his hand off his face. Their eyes met, crimson sparks still whirling around their faces — tension materialized.

She moved her hand, tracing the line from his collarbones to his neck, and placed the cold palm on his cheek. He took a deep breath, finding in this palm the salvation from the agonizing fever, instinctively pressing back harder.

“Lord M,” Victoria called softly, leaning forward.

“Yes, ma’am?” his voice was even hoarser now than when he was a dragon.

“What is going to happen now?”

He didn’t know. He was used to knowing everything. To advising people, to teaching kings. But now he had no idea what to do.

“By the time the dawn breaks, I shall change. Return to my _true nature._ I am going to fly away to live out my days in the south, where it’s warm... the weather in this land is ghastly,” he chuckled.

Victoria giggled quietly but the aquamarine eyes were brimming with tears.

“What about me? What will happen to me?”

“You, of course, will return home and you will continue to rule the country. And I have every confidence that you will be the greatest of queens,” his smile too only reached his lips.

She shook her head ruefully.

“No. I cannot do it without you.” Victoria blinked off willful tears. “No king could. How am I better than many?”

“You, ma’am, have the passion and the courage far greater than all the monarchs before you combined. And you are kind. You found compassion for an old dragon…”

“Don’t say that!” Victoria cupped his face with both hands. “You are not old!”

Her whisper burned him just like the magic flame did. Her words, her closeness, her hot breath on his lips…

“It’s only an appearance,” Melbourne shook his head, trying to fight off the daze. “It’s the curse, it’s playing its tricks. You have no idea how old I am… Even I cannot remember that! Is an ancient artifact like me a proper company for a queen? You should find a… normal friend… a husband. You deserve to be happy.”

He was trying to turn away, to break free from her palms, a fruitless, pointless struggle — he was afraid of her touch and still he yearned for it.

Victoria sobbed, torn inside. He was right — the passion lived within her. It was a part of her. Fire always lived in the queen, and in that, she was like the dragon.

He was made fire by fate, she by nature.

“You know, my wedding was to take place today,” Victoria whispered, the tip of her nose nearly touching his cheek.

Lord Melbourne thought that he should offer his congratulations, the dragon burst into hungry green flames, but William blurted out, “In that case… may I kiss the bride?”

She swayed, falling forward, and he met her lips with the fervor worthy of his dragon, crushing them gently but fiercely. Victoria clutched his arms, clinging closer, and William’s hands gripped her waist. Out of breath, she convulsively sucked in air through her nose, without breaking the kiss, reveling in their shared pleasure.

He pulled away to kiss her cheeks, his fingers sliding up her back, tangling in her thick curls. Victoria turned her head, catching his lips again, ignoring the need to breathe, exchanging air for kisses.

His hands crumpled the virgin white silk. The dress that sat low on her shoulders was giving in to his passion, and Victoria laughed softly, feeling bristly and gentle touches on her neck. Her slender fingers dug into his coarse ruffled curls, pulling him in.

Set ablaze by passion, they burned, and their flame born from one spark smelled like excitement and rapture.

 

***

The wind howled through the deserted beach and chased the clouds across the sky, the constellations winking into and out of sight.

The dragon warmed Victoria in his embrace — even if he had two strong arms instead of two massive wings. He whispered legends of how celestial bodies had received their peculiar names, pointing at those he had mentioned once… what felt like a thousand years ago, in a dank enormous cave.

The queen loved her dragon. She loved her Lord M. She knew that as sure as that there was firm ground under them and bright stars above them. That the sun was rising in the east.

The sun…

“You haven’t changed,” she said simply, meeting his eye.

The man blinked uncomprehendingly, his fingers absently stroking her hands. He turned his head to the east, where the daystar, so quick in the morning and in the evening, was already half-way above the horizon.

“This cannot be…” Lord M muttered in bewilderment, searching his naked body and failing to find a single indication that the curse was in effect.

He pressed his palms to his forehead. He could not remember the last time his body was such… _human_ temperature.

The sun was stubbornly climbing higher until its long gold fingers touched Victoria's laughing face and Melbourne’s pale skin long forgotten by daylight.

“But how?” he stared at the young queen.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, beaming at him. “What did the curse say?”

“The spell shall not be lifted until I save something precious… But what was it?”

Victoria suddenly remembered her despair, her loneliness and boredom, her fear of the unknown, and, most importantly, the fear that her feelings for her dear friend were unrequited, odd and unnatural. All that seemed so hollow now, whereas her heart was so full.

“You haven’t broken my heart. You accepted it. And I hope you will always cherish it,” the tone of her voice made Lord M question which one of them had been in this world longer.

Her arms welcomed him, and his affection was boundless.

The only problem was that they now had to find a way to return home without the wings.

 

***

Once upon a time, say the legends, there lived a queen that fell in love with a dragon. The wise, powerful beast repaid the queen by protecting her until his dying days. When he felt that his end was near, he stole the crowned maiden and took her away to the sea. Many knights hurried to save the beautiful queen, her guards and handsome princes. But the queen returned on her own, safe and sound, and took her throne again, and she chose a noble distinguished man as her husband, although he was much older than she was. She chose him, saying that he had the heart of a dragon.


End file.
